Toothaches and Technology (Summer Reruns!)

I have a major toothache. My Bluetooth is killing me. In fact, it may be listed as the cause of my demise on the coroner’s report: “Death by safety device.” Ever since the new California law was passed last January I have become the equivalent of a six-year-old with car keys. I weave, I slow down, I park in the fast lane of the Freeway, I accelerate while making tight, left turns on overpass exits and go Dukes-of-Hazzard over the side walls, launching into the air. The landings are taking a toll on my car’s suspension and my spinal column. I’m doing all this in the name of safety while I attempt to use my “hands-free” equipment.

I had none of these problems before. One hand drove and one hand held my phone. I used voice commands and could actually utilize my eyes to watch the road. Now, I drive with my foot while simultaneously looking through my purse and pulling everything out searching for my Bluetooth. Once I’ve located it, the dangerous part begins.

As I left San Francisco recently, I headed out on the Bay Bridge. My girlfriend called me to firm up directions to her house in nearby Benicia. Just as she was telling me which lane to get into, the earpiece went dead. This meant I had to get the charger out of my purse while trying to navigate three lanes of speeding, maniacal drivers perched hundreds of feet over shark-infested waters. Once plugged into the cigarette lighter I now had to insert the other, miniscule end into my Bluetooth. This is best achieved with a skilled surgeon, floodlights, and magnifying glasses equal to the Hubble Telescope. Somehow, while nearly sitting on the steering wheel, I made the connection. I took my seat, hooked the thing over my ear, and, just as I was about to give it a command, the coil of the charger sprang back into place and launched the device off my head and into the next dimension.

There are severe issues with voice recognition as well. This is an example of a recent conversation:

Bluetooth: “Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Dial.”
BT: “Command not recognized. Please say a command.”
Me: “Call.”
BT: “Well why didn’t you say that in the first place, you idiot? Please state the name or number you wish to dial.”

Now, at this point, Artificial Intelligence basically takes over the planet and we are all at its mercy.

BT: “Did you say ‘Humpty Dumpty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Howdy Dooty?’ ”
Me: “No.”
BT: “Did you say ‘Jabba the Hut?’ ”
Me: “Yes.” I have discovered this will actually activate the command known as “Jamie at Work,” thereby connecting me with my husband.

He is experiencing a dysfunctional relationship with his safety-accessory as well. He said he couldn’t hear anything in the Bluetooth over the roar of his truck so he went with the type that mounts on the visor. This, too, was supposedly designed to be simple to use while driving. All you do is push a button to activate and start talking. But he still can’t hear anything so he just yanks it off the visor and shoves the whole thing up to his ear. It is approximately the size of a clipboard. This comes in handy when he has to attach it to his hair and hang it off the side of his head. He says when he is pulled over by the police he will protest saying he is, in fact, using a “hands-free” device.

After I left Nancy’s house from Benicia the next day, I made a final attempt to connect with the outside world from the confines of my car. I had checked messages and knew another friend, Teresa, was trying to reach me.

Southbound I-5 stretched out before me like a comfy couch, my headset was charged; all systems seemed to be a “go.” I managed to navigate my way through voice commands and actually connect with the right person. The only problem seemed to be the volume. I mean the volume in the way a jet engine might sound two feet from the fired-up burners, only much louder. It was the demon now flanking my head. I pushed every button to no avail. I was apologizing, while attacking my ear, when the thing flew off again, this time landing under the seat. “Keep talking!” I yelled, zooming down the freeway using the sound of her voice for homing assistance. With my legs hanging out the driver’s side window, I hung upside down to peer under my seat and found it hiding behind an In-and-Out Burger napkin. I had only changed lanes seven times and driven under a big-rig once. No harm done. I resigned myself to the roaring volume and, with my right hand, held the thing three feet from my head, still managing to suffer hearing loss.

With my nerves jangled and a ringing in my head, I pulled into Starbucks in Los Banos. I figured I needed a hot cup of coffee to complete my driving maneuvers. While safely stopped in the parking lot I managed to fix the problem du jour and attempted to phone my children. “Command not recognized while flip is open,” my nemesis taunted. “Flip is open?” I yelled. “Which flip? Phone? Bluetooth? WHAT?!” “Command not recognized. Did you say, ‘Beans and weenies?’ ”

I feel much safer now with my Bluetooth. I know everyone else does, too. We’re all keeping the law as we narrowly careen around one another in death-defying destruction derbies. Maybe next they can invent something to help you drink your coffee while you drive down the road. I don't know….maybe a spigot right above your head could automatically pour boiling java all over you. You could lick at the drips while your skin falls off.

Copyright 2008

Summer Repeats

Being so Hollywood-like in terms of my VAST popularity (ahem......) it would follow that I shall now presume upon your good nature and broadcast my reruns.

We find ourselves in the bosom of felicity. Why you ask? Because we're going camping! All of a sudden. Just like that. No preplanning. The time off simply dropped into our laps. And our housesitters have not a CLUE about blogging (translation: even older than ME) so there you go. I cannot cajole them into guest hosting. Consequently, I am forced to stage repeats and will also apologize in advance for my absence on your blogs. I know there are many new readers here so, hopefully, the repeats will be entertaining for you. For my old friends, maybe you will enjoy the second showing or else feel light and airy with one less blog to keep up with. Reruns will begin Saturday. I wish you all a relaxing summer week and will probably rejoin you before you even know I'm gone!

W.A.S.P.P.P.

No, not the "White Anglo Saxon Protestant" type. Minky recently redefined it into "Whirring Angry Stinging Pestilence from the Pit of Perdition."

On Monday, Minky went one round with these little beasts of barbary and lost badly with a TKO (technical knock out for you non-pugilistic types). And I think it was our fault. She loves to snap at flies and we have encouraged her every time they find their way into the house. It has become part of her job description. We forget she isn't very discriminating when it comes to small, buzzy, and wing-ed. I think that tripped her up early Monday morning when she was outside.

Grizzly called my name while I was still in bed and he was downstairs making coffee. He is up early for work and sometimes finds me already at my desk. But if not, he does his thing (after turning off the snooze button at least eight times and no I am NOT even CLOSE to exaggerating), and takes off for work.

There are only a few exceptions to this routine. They all involve horror. The very second my name is called or he appears at my bedside, something has gone desperately or freakishly wrong. It stops my heart every time. My only response to hearing my name under these circumstances (or when he uses that tone) is and will forever be, "WHAT'S WRONG?!!!"

A sample list of his responses:

"They've attacked the World Trade Center." (Clearly the worst one ever.)

"Somebody bashed out the window of your car."

"There's something dead down here (cat hunting by-products)."

"I think Bess is home." (A beloved cat who had been missing for months - it wasn't her. It was a demon in white fur who summarily tried to rip my head off. He doesn't always check his facts before mustering me in my groggy state.)

I have never been summoned to breakfast, say, with the table all set and waiting for me. No exquisite sunrise has been announced. No bouquet of roses ever beckons. No, my name in the morning equals calamity. I really think he better balance this out one of these days or I may suffer a major coronary before hitting the floor running.

Monday morning, I heard my name. "It's nothing," he intoned. "I just want you to see something." Uh-huh. I bet it's not breakfast. "Minky's face looks swollen. I gotta take off and I just wanted you to keep an eye on her. I think she got bitten by a black widow and it could be crawling around the house somewhere." Okay then, honey. Thanks. I'll go back to bed now. Why would I worry? Have a good day. I'll try to remember to fend off poisonous attacking arachnids as I watch our dog go into anaphylactic shock. Bye-bye, now.

I took one look at Minky and either something bit her or she had taken up the habit of chewing tobacco and had perfected the art of stuffing her gums. The left (your right) side of her face was swelling. I grabbed the not-so-great camera (because I still can't remember we have a better one) and snapped this:

She looks a little concerned.

I hauled the kids out of bed and said, "Hold her while I shave her." I was, of course, looking for the telltale sign of two puncture points indicating spider fangs. Looking through hair is impossible so I needed access. Shaving is my immediate answer. If you ever develop head lice, don't come and see me. There'll be no nit-picking. I will shave you bald. Here's how poor Minky appears this morning:

Doesn't she look depressed? Well wouldn't you if I'd only shaved HALF your face? I promise, if I see you, I'll shave your whole face, eyebrows included. Oh, and the vet commented I removed her whiskers, too. Critics. I was trying to save her life. From a black widow. Who was stomping through the house heat-tracking us.

In the next few hours after Mr. Shock-and-Awe left for work, Minky's face swelled to three times this size and her eyes became red and puffy. I had dosed her with Benadryl but it didn't do much. So, it was off to the vet for a MONGO shot of Benadryl and then a steroid injection. And by then we could see little pin-pricks rising under her chin and on her snout where it became obvious the black widow was non-existent and a wasp, or wasps, had been the culprit(s).

Minky will be a wiser dog now, I hope, though she won't be ready for any close-ups on the silver screen with her unfabulous hair-don't. And the house has been temporarily restored to a bastion of safety against marauding black widows, and that is a comfort.

However, Grizzly remains a serious threat to my health.

(Legal disclaimer: Grizzly insists he also mentioned wasps as a possibility. My hearing was temporarily disconnected after I heard "black widow." The End.)

Copyright 2009

Observational Twitter 18

Famous Quote:

"Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love." ~Albert Einstein

Obscure Quote:

"Gravitation is absolutely responsible for my falling arches, falling ratings on the 1-10 scale, and frankly, I think it's clear my plummeting IQ score is involved." ~Robynn


P.S. I'm AWAKE! (and headed to a party...but then....where ELSE could I possible be going? Oh, there was that scintillating few hours at the vet with Minky, on Monday, when she got into a wasp nest and her nose swelled up like a light bulb......)


Copyright 2009

Sleeping Sickness

I can't stay awake. I'm napping every time I hold still for more than 3 seconds. Usually my problem is I can't sleep.

Maybe I should try a contraption like this. When I fall out of bed onto one end of the teeter-totter, somebody could jump on the other end and launch me into my life. That might work for a wake-up call.

I think it might be a solid few weeks of not getting to bed before 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning. Some of that is sheer busyness with life, family, and party preparations and another part has been seizing the only opportunity to grab a few hours for myself. Simply put, I've had too many 30 hour days compressed into 24. And then there are the 640 graduation parties, including Bo's. But wait! There's more! If you act now we will include a going away party this week along with two more graduation parties all for the same low price!! I can't stop myself from dialing.

I believe I may wrap up this graduation season by inviting everyone to MY graduation - to the next life. You can throw me in the ground and cover me with mortar boards! Goodnight (no, really)! You've been a great crowd!

(P.S. I just left a comment on someone's blog and my word verification was "supinnap." Eat and sleep. Do you feel this was a message from God? I'm taking it as a clear directive with express permission.)

Copyright 2009

Observational Twitter 17

Adage:

"An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." Benjamin Franklin

Epigram:

"A pound of prevention isn't equal to an ounce of really good chocolate." Robynn




Copyright 2009

Breaking News!

Mrs. M at I've Changed My Name to Mommy just notified me this late night (which is actually early morning - party preparations and all) that an interview she did with me last week is up and posted on her blog today! I can't believe it but it's there. I hope you get a chance to pop over and check it out and peruse her blog as well. You'll like her. And if you follow her, you will be entered in a drawing to be featured. Isn't that the most generous thing? I LOVE her blog and she is quite the interviewer as well as writer. I hope she teaches a class. I'll take it! THANK YOU MRS. M!! You are gangs of fun!

(My regular post appears below - don't miss the Fuplers!)

The Fuplers Kick off the Party!

Tonight is graduation party night. Rock on. It's time for luau and karaoke and scores of friends. Bo here, and Miss Maddie, are making a night of it by combining parties. Should be a great time!

But, parties put me in a silly mood and I'm thinkin' by the time midnight rolls around, I'm gonna be pretty hysterical. I'll be laughing at everything and nothing. And I want you to be laughin' with me. So I just HAVE to share the following video. Oregon cousins brought this to us and well, we've been tuning in regularly just so we can split seams all over again. If teenage boy descriptions of a body part everyone possesses offends you (no swearing involved), then I advise you not to watch. But if you are in possession of children, especially siblings, you will find this tame (unless yours are completely unlike mine, never fight, and always say only the sweetest things to each other.) That ain't life around our house and I think this may feature my mom mojo, especially the five-o'clock shadow.

The funniest thing is one guy plays the part of mom, dad, teenage brother, and little sister. Do yourself a favor and put your coffee down.

(P.S. Video run time is actually two minutes even though it says two-and-a-half.)

Dearly Departed......

And then there were none.

The last of my visiting cousins left early this morning to head back to Oregon. That group comprised Joey, his wife Laurie, and their girls, Elizabeth and Ashley, the 19-yr-old twins, Katie, The Wild Man's age and in full possession of a sensitive and curious mind, and Julianna, 11, the spitfire. We got to keep Elizabeth for the night on Monday (she is at college so she and Bo had a lot to talk about). And most came for lunch yesterday as we hung out and had great laughs. Ashley had to miss out on this part because she headed for Ukraine on a missions trip.

On Saturday night we hosted the Illinois/Iowa cousins. Kristen (on the left here) and Stasha (on the right) came rolling in for dinner and stayed into the wee hours of Sunday morning. I had never met Stasha. She moved to California in 1993 and, being the functional family we are, no one ever told us. The fact is, no one really has much of a relationship with anyone else and truth-telling is at a minimum. (If the craziness on both sides of this family tree gets any deeper, the Grand Canyon will look like a mud puddle in comparison. Ah, Egypt....I do NOT long for you. I LOVE the Promised Land!) In fact, she never knew she had family in California. And Kristen we saw, for the first and last time, once, when she was 15.


So here we are, the remnant, the truth-tellers. Some of the cousins and one Aunt, from both sides of my family, willing to look the facts in the eyeball and move forward. Willing to do the hard work of changing family legacies, by God's goodness and grace to us, and then gladly Lampooning everything within range, for sanity's sake. No "Leave It to Beaver" here. In fact, I think most everything must have gotten left to Beaver. Except the humor - who has more fun than a bunch of refugees from wacked-out families? And what we lack in family numbers we make up for in the largest and most supportive group of true friends - some of them refugees themselves. And the best thing about friends is you get to pick them. O yea, O YAY!

So goodbye, family. Thank you for the reconnect. I hope it grows and blossoms as we've all headed down our different paths of reconstruction. God bless us everyone. Especially the goofballs like Junlianna here with as many grapes in her mouth as she can shove in.

Copyright 2009

Heroes

Do you ever feel like there isn't enough good news? I quit taking the paper because if I'm going to write a "mostly" humor blog, I have to feel like laughing now and again and I sure don't get much inspiration from anything the paper offers. Now my family? Friends? You guys? Life in general? That gets me laughing or thinking (something I don't do all the time due to brain endangerment - hate to wear it out early), or you inspire me.

So do stories about selflessness.

My bloggy friend, Fruitcake Sandy at It's Never Too Late for a Happy Childhood has a brother and his wife who were featured in this month's Reader's Digest for their riveting tale of heroism. Above is a photo of them and you can read the story here. (He is also the uncle of my sweet friend, Bz, at The Mosquitos Buzz because Sandy's her mom. When you get to know what really great people they are - and that's no bloggy flattery, it's true - you won't be surprised that they are related to heroes like this.) I truly hope you give yourself the gift of reading this amazing story on her blog. I'll be looking for the Reader's Digest copy, too!

Sandy, I borrowed your photo of them without your permission but I hope you'll forgive me and knowing you, I think I'm good. :~)

Copyright 2009

Weather On The 8's - From My Foundation Garment

Several years ago The Wild Man was given a handy cloth calendar and weather chart. It hung on the wall of his bedroom and he could change the day and forecast by way of little number or picture pieces backed with velcro. This was fun for him for a short while but I think I played with it more until he made me take it down. Through the years, a few pieces fell off and disappeared.

As I was getting dressed Saturday, something under my bra strap felt uncomfortable. I reached for it and ferreted out a little cloth velcro sign stuck there. Somehow this thing materialized and decided to go for a ride through the laundry with my unmentionables - which I just mentioned.

I went outside and I'll be darned if this isn't what I saw:

Who knew these vital clothing articles had prophetic properties? Let's just hope I don't get word that my barometers are falling!

Copyright 2009

Minky's Marvels - I Believe I Can "Fly!"

Minky is a jumping bean. That's all there is to it. Her two favorite activities in life are running and jumping. She jumps when she doesn't need to. She is simply happiest when she is airborn. Thursday night, after all the cousin festivities and a quick trip downtown to see a young artist friend's gallery exhibition (more about that in another post with pictures of him and his amazing work), we took a few minutes for Minky frivolity. She loves to catch anything and this orange rubber thingy is a fav. My desk is on the left and the rocking chair is pushed out into the entry way so she doesn't crash on it. She looks like a reindeer here.

The higher the better as far as she's concerned. (Note my wild wallpaper of garden seed packets. I can't change it. No one will let me. We all love it. The End.)

But this one took our breath away. We were prayin' she stuck the landing. Our little bat - hanging from the ceiling upside down. She hit the ground on all fours rarin' to go again.

Who has more fun than Minky?

(P.S. Cruddy carpet disclaimer: The carpet is 20 years old and is clean but stained. It will be replaced by wood flooring which is here and in the garage but has not managed to put itself in yet. We have one room done - Bo's. We move at the speed of light - before you turn on the switch.)

Copyright 2009

The Florida Cousin

A quick update to keep you in the loop. Tricia, my Florida cousin-in-law, is here on the far left. Next to her is her mother-in-law, aka my Aunt Sandy (my favorite most wonderful aunt in the WHOLE WORLD). Of course, you know the other characters here. We had a FABULOUS time yesterday and I fed her everything I could think of because I love to feed people and they brought pie so we ate that, too. We all fought for airspace and talked like we had just seen each other ten minutes ago. She left her husband and kids back in Florida and is here to see family and friends and to remember she is a WOMAN, as well as a wonderful mom and wife. Doesn't that kind of break do us all good once in awhile? (Well, I guess you MEN reading this don't need to be reminded of your womanliness so you get a pass.) We women have a much harder time with it, generally, because taking care of everybody is what we do. And, of course, that isn't true universally but when Grizzly left a few minutes ago to go camping by himself (with JoJo as his only companion), he didn't look the least bit conflicted. I'm just sayin'.

The Bo, The Trish, The Aunt - We could not feature "The Donald" as his hair was in for its rabies shots.

Trish let me take a few pictures of her (and put up with me because this is NOT her favorite thing) but isn't this darling? I absolutely love photos of people laughing with their eyes closed. One of my favorite senior pictures of Bo was exactly like that. It embodies lovely abandonment to mirth. I'm big on mirth. This shocks you I know.

And one more, because I can.

The Illinois/California cousins are due in tomorrow. Updates coming but WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE these shots of Minky's Marvels in tomorrow's post. She got some serious air last night. It was other worldly. Not even human. Exactly.

Copyright 2009

Mea Culpa...Mea Crazy Woman of Many Cousins

Do you see these people? These people are all cousins of one sort or another from my biological father's side but connected to me through a PRECIOUS aunt (they are her children and grandchildren). The Aunt and I haven't seen the biological father for over 22 years for good and compelling reasons which don't belong in this post.

I haven't seen these cousins for about seven years for no good reason at all except life busyness and proximity. Last week we reconnected and did we every have a BALL. Unless you're around family all the time (and we're not) you forget that family wackiness and humor runs exTREMEly deep and is like finding an oasis in the Sahara. Right after our visit they left for Arizona to see more family on his wife's side. They'll be back tonight. What does this have to do with anything? Well, I'll tell you at some point, I'm sure, after you sit through some boring details. You're free to go now.

The guy standing to my right and hiding behind me is my cousin, Joey. (His lovely wife, Laurie, is on the far left and the rest of these beauties are their daughters. Except for me, Bo, and The Wild Man. We are not their daughters.) His brother, Rick, (another cousin) lives in Florida. His wife, Tricia, just arrived in town a few days ago and so we have another cousin we want to see. She is coming over for breakfast tomorrow. We haven't seen her in about four years.

Two days ago, my mother informed me that a niece from her side (my cousin) is in California on business. She lives in Illinois. She wants to get together. I haven't seen her in ten years. She also wants to pick up another cousin who actually lives in California. I have never met this cousin and had no idea she was in my same state. I lived part of my life in close proximity with her dad back in Illinois. Apparently, he and I don't talk very often. In fact, the last time we exchanged words was 32 years ago. We're not mad at each other and have never had a falling out. Our family just doesn't do "close" all that well. We only knew each other as kids for a short time and, well, life goes on. And one side or the other would have had to make family a priority. That didn't happen either. We have a serious legacy of non-bonding issues. Everybody can live without everybody else. (MAJOR EXCEPTION: My family - the one YOU know - is making deliberate changes to this rule and maybe cousins are beginning to feel the same.) So, these Illinois/California cousins are coming to town on Saturday and it would be good to see them.

But what are the odds that nine cousins from four different states, and different sides of the family, all converge, unbeknownst to each individual group, after many, many years apart, and all within a week of each other?

Do you realize the true, earth-shattering, underlying meaning of this? I HAVE TO CLEAN MY HOUSE!

I have bathtub caulking that is good enough for my kids' tub but not good enough for a cousin to look at if they sit down on the toilet and happen to see around the shower curtain. I have carpeting in the study that makes the dogs happy when they smell themselves on it, but which probably wouldn't recommend itself to visiting familia. I have kitchen grout that is light gray in design and dark gray in reality. Time for the Clorox and a toothbrush. I have a mountain of laundry - yes AGAIN. Who has time for laundry when you're graduating people, for Pete's sake?! I'm gonna try out that "move a mountain" Bible verse today and see if I can get my Mt. Everest over to my neighbor's house. Maybe they'll do it all before they realize it's not theirs.

So once again, I beg your kind and caring indulgence as I remain A.W.O.L. in Blogsville preparing for family and three weekends worth of graduation parties still to attend (including Bo's!). I am not visiting you. And I'm a worse person for it. I am missing out! But I sure coulda used you in the bathroom last night as I chiseled out the caulking with a hammer and screwdriver. I hit the tile with my knuckles so many times my hand looks like I'm a prizefighter. I could make up a great story to go with these bruised knuckles. Maybe I'll just abandon this whole cleaning and functionality idea and lay a bunch of empty booze bottles around while sprawling on the couch. I'll display my fighting hand and describe my most recent barroom brawl. I'll wave them toward my messy kitchen and empty fridge.

Yeah, that outta put off the next visit for another 20 years or so. I should SERIOUSLY write a book on entertaining. It's obvious I have a gift.

Copyright 2009

Bo, The Graduate 2009

I will start this post off by apologizing to all of you for not visiting YOUR blogs in the last several days. It has been a whirlwind, as I'm sure you know, if you've graduated children or been a graduate yourself. Believe it or not, it never dawned on me that we would be attending all these parties as well as graduation ceremonies. I mean, I knew we had the parties of ten girls (from the ten core friend families) but then add in all the OTHER senior friends and well, wow! It is party central starting last weekend through the next three weekends. But what great fun!

Last night........indescribable. I watched my sweet Bo walk down the aisle as a high school graduate. It was surreal. I didn't cry because I couldn't. Each set of parents (in a graduating class of forty) had the privilege of handing their graduate the diploma he or she had earned, and then giving a sixty-second blessing. I had to stay focused and not look like a wreck when all I really wanted was to sit and have a good, heart-felt cry.

But here she is walking toward us:

The Wild Man with Bo:

And another one just because it shows her cute shoes and my cute kids - oh be still my heart!

The proud and happy family - The Wild Man, Me, Bo, and Grizzly

Bo and TWM have been privileged to be part of an incredible homeschool choir through Peoples School of Creative Arts at Peoples Church in Fresno. The choir has over 250 homeschooled kids from K-12. The High school portion is called Concert Choir and Bo is also part of Girls' Ensemble. In the photo below, some of the graduating seniors (who were in the choir) perform. When I can figure out how to get this off of my video camera I will upload it. They're amazing. I wish you could hear them now.

And this shows the size of the whole graduating class: (There were about 1,000 people in attendance.)

It was the most marvelous experience for me to witness this event. Many of you know I left home at 15 and, though I tried to forge ahead, my life was so topsy-turvy I left school in my junior year. I never went to a prom or wore a pretty gown. I missed high school dances and senior events. Senior trip was something I heard about through a few friends but never experienced. I didn't graduate until my early 20's and only then because I wanted to start college. So, if I tell you this was a thrill, believe me. My heart was intensely delighted (as well as healed) to watch my daughter do all these things, and more. To see her standing there in her cap and gown last night was a full-circle experience. This time, with God's goodness and graciousness, it came out right. We broke the cycle of failure and dysfunction and crossed the finish line, with the honor of a full ride academic scholarship. I'm still shaking my head in wonder.

I don't think I fully grasped the magnitude of the whole thing until I sat down to tell you about it this late night. I looked down the long road when I was pregnant for her. I saw the finish line and knew what I wanted even then, but I couldn't fully grasp how it would feel or who she would be, or who I would be, for that matter. I think I could sum up much of my life by saying I have failed forward. But this is full circle. This is thriving. This, THIS, is a happy ending. She is not her mother's child. She is SO much more.

Thanks for loving us and walking with us on our journey.

Copyright 2009

Thunderstruck By Graduation!

Tonight we'll see this:

Bo will graduate from high school after thirteen years of homeschooling. Just yesterday we were doing a "Hungry Little Caterpillar" unit study in kindergarten. Today she asked me if I ever remember not knowing how to read. I told her I don't remember not knowing but I definitely recall learning. I followed my mother around the house reading from my "Fun with Dick and Jane" book. (There's a story behind that for another post.) Bo said she remembers struggling to learn but not being unable to read. Books, reading, and writing are so much a part of her very essence now, I don't think she could delineate where she ends and they begin. They aren't what she does, they're what she is. And when that flower opened, I was there to witness it. What a gift.

With thirty-nine other homeschooled students, we will hand our kids (our young men and women) their diplomas. And we will close a chapter of our lives. What's done is done and what's undone is undone. There was never enough time, energy, or opportunity to do everything I had envisioned I would do. But I pray it is enough. I brought my lumpy loaves and a couple of fish to God and he has multiplied them beyond anything I was capable of achieving. I couldn't ask for more.

And last night we did this:

The kids and I went storm chasing. (These are stock photos but look so close to the unbelievable lightning storm we caught up with that they could be ours.) We try to storm chase every chance we get. This time we were able to drop right into the center of the cell and watch it explode all around us. Lots of strikes on the ground, great intercloud activity, a HUGE column with pink hues, a lightning ball all curlicued up into itself and bursting across our vision, as well as one strike that headed straight for the ground but veered off to the left at a sharp 90 degree angle.

At one point we saw a huge strike hit a transformer and explode into a sky full of brilliant aqua. We stayed long enough to watch repair crews arrive. The Wild Man wanted to pick their brains about exactly how much damage there was, but I doubted they would welcome inquiries in the middle of a storm so, he lost that bid.

The piece de resistance was when lightning burst forth directly on top of our SUV and made us nearly blind. We ducked, screamed, and plastered our hands to our eyes in self defense. And then, of course, the thunder was immediate and rocked the whole car and our ear drums in a blasting and long rolling percussion. WHAT A RUSH!!!!!!!! Now THAT's what I'm TALKIN' about! You can storm chase for a long time and not get THAT lucky. Oh! And the dogs were with us. They did great and loved the pelting rain that came right afterwards.

(Yes, I know this hobby is slightly dangerous but you're actually pretty safe in a car. And with all the trees in the fields and other outbuildings and poles to hit, it would be unlikely to seek us as we are fairly well insulated. And this is interesting: "The odds of being struck and killed by lightning are actually quite slim, about 350,000 to 1. You are fifty times more likely to be struck and killed by a motor vehicle." (from Starry Skies.com). So I guess by stopping in the middle of the storm instead of continuing the drive, our odds of living went up exponentially!)

Once the lightning moved off, the kids had to get out and stand in the wind and rain with arms splayed and faces upturned to the sky. Oh, and that smell. Is there anything that compares with the smell of a summer storm? Those of you in Big Weather Country probably get this all the time. But in California, it's much more rare. Bo says it was God celebrating grad night. I'll go with that. We are thunderstruck by thirteen years. God gave us a picture to remember the feeling forever. :-)

Please forgive me for not visiting you more this last few days. I will be back in between all the festivities and parties. And of COURSE I'll be showing you pictures!

Copyright 2009

Whatcha Been Chewin'?

Minky and JoJo would like to bring you today's update. It's a good thing, too. I'm still just a little spittin' mad at Blogger. It's better this morning but not fully fixed yet. (The dogs had to create this photo post backwards because nothing can be rearranged.) So I'm leaving now to assume my position on the fainting couch and sending this post to the dogs.



Hello!! MInky here, with news from my beautiful self. Look how the sun highlights my eyes in this remarkable photo. And do you see how I have my two front socks pulled up just perfectly so they match? I amaze myself. I am 8-months-old now and looking for ways to "go greeen" by composting the trash, recycling, and down-sizing. If I find it, I chew it.

Here's a small sampling of some recent work:

That red thing in the middle is actually supposed to be for dogs to chew on. Every time I chewed it, it got smaller and smaller. It’s kinda freakin’ me out. Pieces of it are showing up when I go outside to do my business. That’s not right. It seems to be following me.

(Oh my good grief. Could I BE any more bored? JoJo here. If you’ve been puttin’ off a root canal, now’s your moment. It might be more entertaining. Minky's probably gonna drag on and on about this piddlin’ life of hers and makin’ a big deal outta nuthin’. She’s never faced a bear or caught a cat by the tail. You know, the stuff REAL dogs do. I’ll just keep sittin’ here prayin' an anvil falls on my head.)

Anyway, look at these! These gloves are made out of Kevlar. My dad got some for work and they worked out great so, he got some for me, too. He thought we could wrestle and they would save him from my shark-like teeth. He was wrong. I found where he left the gloves and finished ‘em off.

Underneath that red thing below is my chipmunk. You might wanna look away if you’re squeamish. I pulled all of his guts out and I think those plastic things on either side might be his bowels. Yeah, I think I disemboweled him. When I bit down on him they made squeaky noises. I have that problem once in awhile with my digestive system. So does JoJo. Hers are loud which I think is AWESOME. It happens when she flops down on the floor.

Here’s me in mid-flight catchin’ the chimpmunk carcass. If you look right in the middle of that gray SUV behind me, you’ll see if heading right for my open jaws.

(You did NOT TELL THEM about my personal issues…..what a rat fink. You must work for the Enquirer. I have no dignity left.)

Well, I could be a professional journalist, I'm sure. And every good reporter needs a few pencils, some gum to work off the energy of waiting for that breaking story, and a comb to maintain a good appearance. That's why I hunted these up:

So then, in the spirit of journalism, let me ask you Madam JoJo, what have you been up to?

Well, finally a subject of interest to your readers. I haven’t been chewin’ stuff up all over the house like someone whose initials are Minky. I bark when I need to, like when people we know come over. And I generally maintain my happy-go-lucky attitude when you’re not buggin’ me, which leaves me precious little time for happy attitudes, I can tell you. But here's a shot of me in one of those rare moments:

Okay, well that’s enough about you. Now let’s get back to me.

Here’s another GREAT action shot of me on the fly. Check out that hang time and the air I got!

I look kind of chubby, but I'm not. I'm really just fluffy. My mom says she looks kind of fluffy, but she's not. She's just chubby.

So that's the latest from the home front right now. Happy tails to you from me and Happy Jo!!

Copyright 2009

To Whom It May Concern..Part II.

Well, the last post sorta sums up the whole thing. BLOGGER IS HAVING A MELTDOWN.

My text disappears; I can't edit; I can't drag and drop photos for rearrangement; my page won't load completely; some of YOUR pages won't load completely. Some of these are known problems as of last week but there is still no status update as to a FIX. Hello? Blogger? Is this thing on? Posting is kind of THE thing, isn't it? Without the ability to post, well, uh, what's the point?

Debbie, at Jadehollow said last week she was having similar problems. I'll try posting this again and we'll see what happens. I just wanted you all to know I'm still alive!

Book Winners!!

Congratulations to the winners of the Jordan Rubin books:

1. Reginia at Tetertots
2. Libby, at Neas Nuttiness
3. Jillybean, at The Post It Place

And Reginia, you won the signed copy! Email me your shipping info ladies and they are on their way Monday. Thank you everyone for entering and posting. I promise the next contest will be international!

O Great Medicine Woman!

Had I been born in an ancient place or time, when you didn't have to go through all these bothersome years of medical school and voluminous dry tomes, I would have been a great doctor. Through my own research I could have analyzed you way before Freud (and I would have known the true things you envied and those you did NOT), developed a method of treatment for PMS by gender - you know, Pre-Menstrual Syndrome or Petulant Male Sickness - let's face it, crabbiness is not limited to only those possessing uteri - and then whipped you up a dandy herb concoction as treatment.

Nowadays, you are required to know where the amygdala is as well as what a pre-frontal cortex does. If you actually want to buy a stethoscope you have to define occipital lobe and limbic system. It is no longer good enough to point to someone's cranium and say, "That's where yur BRAIN is, Jethro. If you don't believe me, well, let's just crack that thing open 'n have us a look see!"

Personally, I believe I would have fit right in with the likes of these guys:

I love color and big bangly jewelry so I could see myself workin' the whole outfit thing. But then my obligation as a purveyor of health would have kicked in and I'd be advising that guy on the right to lose the cigarette. At that point, of course, they would have held out their grateful arms for a big group hug, snapped my neck, and boiled me in the over sized communal stew pot.

However, I was born in this place and time and so must practice medicine on my family and friends in my own version of a village healer. This works out even better because they are not nearly as free to uh, liquidate me, as it were, with impunity.

Learning is my thing and I'm happy to share and help whether I am needed or not.

I enjoy knowing what makes people tick; why we do what we do; how what we eat affects our whole sense of well being; and how our second brain, the digestive system (which actually has nearly as much serotonin as our brains) impacts our mood through its complex systems. This is the type of late night reading I enjoy:

I even like to know what made Jane Austen do what she did, as in, entertain me MIGHTILY. (Okay. I don't think this has anything to do with the subject. And I may or may not have a shrine erected in my home to honor her.)

One thing every good healer knows is she practices medicine on herself first. If she does not die or have body parts fall off, then she is free to help others. I am the one people call for advice and come to for over-the-counter medicine when we're at functions together. I always carry Advil and Sudafed for Grizzly's sinus headaches, Excedrin for migraine, and Tylenol for those who can't take anything that might upset their stomach. I get a good ribbing about this occasionally but everyone keeps coming for relief. I have even been known to leave in the middle of church to hunt down Benadryl for a friend having an allergic reaction. I liken it to getting the donkey out of the ditch on the Sabbath. Some things simply must be done.

But I have made mistakes.

There was the time I put ear drops in my son's eyes. The bottles looked nearly identical. When he told me they felt "burny" I told him he was overreacting. But when he looks at you intently now and says, "I hear you," believe him.

Or the time I told him to take a big sniff of Zi-cam when he squirted it (because Grizzly said that's what the direction were). Note to all medicine women: Never trust anyone not highly skilled in the healing arts, i.e., men, because they never read the directions to anything. This was the exact opposite of what was prescribed on the package and had the resultant "MAJOR burny" effect. Lesson learned the wrong way: on someone else. That's bad medicine.

But probably my biggest error occurred on myself - the way it should be. It is the reason I am suspect to any and all when they get injured and I advise ice. I'm really not good with ice. It's probably because I'm a throw back to before they had ice, unless you lived in the glacial regions. Personally, I like the stuff and think it's good for just about anything, except migraine - which requires 3000 degree hot packs to the pre-frontal cortex.

My problem seems to arise in the theory that if a little is good, cryogenics is better. I have burned my back numerous times with ice packs applied to bare skin for well over an hour. But oh, what blissful, pain-free hours they were. Until later.

And then there was the time I froze my finger. Solid.

I had been washing our SUV and needed the ladder to get to the top. When I popped it up, I trapped my baby finger in the latch that forces the ladder open and it was caught there. I frantically tried to pound up on the mechanism to free my finger while simultaneously wailing and jumping up and down. The kids ran around frenzied not knowing what to do. I managed to extricate my digit as I called for ice and dashed into the house. My daughter moved rapidly to comply but came back with ice-cubes.

"No, no, honey. Mommy needs the soft ice pack!" I advised through gritted teeth, flinging meat pies and orange juice from the freezer in my desperate pursuit. I spotted my frozen deliverer and hurriedly wrapped it around my finger. The pain was still intense so, with the instinct that makes you stand on a badly stubbed toe and stop the throb, I put a couch pillow over the ice pack and then laid down on top of the whole thing. Slowly, the pain began to wane and I started breathing. Ahhhhhhh. Ice.

I savored my semi-pain free interval until I felt a shift of some sort and decided to investigate. I extricated my finger from its packaging and discovered it was frozen solid. Just like a T-Bone from the deep freeze. I was awed. I had no idea such a thing could occur. Every good healer should know these deep secrets hidden in the magic of ice. I called the kids.

"Look!" I said with wonder. "My finger is frozen! Feel it! Tap on it! Isn't that amazing? It's just like meat!" We all enjoyed the fascination of the moment. Then I had a second thought. "Uh, I think I have to thaw this out right away," I announced. I was pretty sure this qualified as frostbite. My first-aid training came back to me and I figured cool water was better than hot. I shoved my hand under the bathroom faucet and began the process. I found myself longing for the pain of the ladder.

I discovered that thawing out frozen body parts is painful to an exquisite degree. And I've given birth. I fell to my knees with my arm still draped over the sink and there I supplicated, minus the humility part. I wailed and moaned and carried on to epic degrees. When I finally dared to analyze my former barbecue candidate, it had thawed but had no feeling on the outside. I wondered, would it fall off? I eventually learned the answer was no. It simply turned hard as the layers of skin died. A few weeks later my finger lost its exoskeleton and revealed new and baby pink skin, with nerves intact and no other damage. I was happy and still fascinated by the whole process.

Unfortunately, the incident lost me my icing privileges and I couldn't practice them in any other state, either. Now, when I head for the ice-packs to halt bruising or swelling, everyone runs from me. Okay! I was wrong about this one thing. I've learned. They should trust me even MORE because I am now fully aware of the pitfalls!

And I learned them on myself. That is loaded with credibility. What doctor do YOU know who's willing to subject himself to his own medicine? Sounds like a true healer to me.

Copyright 2009 - All Rights Reserved